When I Wanted You
by Theta Serpentis
Summary: A take on the night T.M. Riddle killed his father. Told in the first person. 'Where were you when I wanted you'


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter; all characters and terminology (and basically anything you recognise from the series) are property of J.K. Rowling. Also the lines "_You look mighty like that muggle… You look right like him. Riddle… dishonoured us, she did, that little slut… he left her, and serve her right, marrying that filth!' _are direct quotes from book six. Last; the line "Oh, Dennis, stop going on about freedom!" is a quote from Monty Python and The Holy Grail; which I also do not own. I am not making any money on this.

**When I Wanted You**

I sneered in disgust as I walked along the dirt trail back to the country road, willing myself not to look backward with every step I took. I could hardly believe what I had seen in that… Well I can't really call it a house; "house" is far too good for it... that dump, that pigsty, that shanty, that _hovel_… I really must stop listing word lest I turn into a thesaurus. The last descendents of the great Salazar Slytherin: spouting the fact he was their ancestor proudly, but unable to hold themselves as his descendents ought. But not I (I thought to myself as I twirled my uncle's wand between my fingers), I – Lord Voldemort – not just a descendent of Slytherin but the heir of Slytherin as well!

My uncle, Morfin Gaunt… I shook my head as I walked out of the hedges and back onto the lane that lead to Little Hangleton. It's hard to believe that thing, that brute, that creature, that savage (Oh great Slytherin! I really am turning into a thesaurus!) with his bestial appearance is actually related to me! Indeed it is hard to believe that he knew how to talk, although there can be no doubt that he does, as I was not imagining the conversation I had with him and his words seemed to enjoy echoing in my head. _'You look mighty like that muggle… You look right like him. Riddle… dishonoured us, she did, that little slut… he left her, and serve her right, marrying that filth!'_ My uncle's words had confirmed as truth what I had deemed impossible: my mother had been a witch, and yet she had died like a muggle. She was a witch, she had a wand, but she hadn't used it, not even to save her own life. She hadn't been willing to live for her own son. '_he left her, and serve her right, marrying that filth! he left her… he left her…' _ He left her. He had left her – my mind was struggling to wrap itself around this fact as I walked through the dark town –, my mother had run away from her magical family to be with my father and then he left her… He went running home to his parents when he found out she could do magic. He hadn't wanted her because she could do magic, and I can do magic, which means he won't want me either. And if he doesn't want me, which he won't, it's a good thing because the feeling is mutual!

'…_dishonoured us, she did, that little slut…'_

'Oh, Dennis, stop going on about freedom!' I startled momentarily before sliding into the shadows of the village pub – which, according to its signs, was called "The Hanged Man" – but there was no need to hide, as the two mud-covered people had taken no notice of me and were hurrying up the street while carrying (not that it came as any big shock) more mud in wicker baskets. Mentally scolding myself for not paying enough attention to my surroundings I continued towards the manor house on the hill.

I paused at the top of the hill, momentarily, to look at the village – unfortunately I had stopped in clear view of the gardener's cottage and the moon was, although waning, quite bright. I think the gardener may have seen me, however, if he did he didn't do anything.

I was completely unnoticed as I slipped in through the back door and by the kitchens; as the cook was too busy complaining about the maid (who, it seemed, had a nasty tendency of slipping out to see her lover instead of doing her job) and too occupied by the task of dish washing. I smirked, from what I had heard I deduced that the maid was out with her lover tonight, and would probably be discovered in the garden with her young man by Frank Bryce – who, by my reasoning, must be the gardener – around five in the morning, that my father and grandparents were all accounted for (in the drawing room), that the cook was a heavy sleeper, and that the butler was in the local hospital for surgery. So, all that I had to do before We… I was detected was to find the drawing room: this turned out to be a ridiculously easy thing to do.

I paused in front of the door to make it look like I had not just walked a mile, and checked my pocket for the letter required for plan B. The little voice in the back of my head complained that this behaviour was foolishness because the muggles weren't worth it and went on to say that We… I mean I… should go straight to plan B, with the removal of the letter from the plan. Without giving me time to calm down – though a simple mix up of common words like I or we should not scare us… me – I opened the door. The three people inside did not look up as I entered the room.

The youngest of the three– who must be my father – spoke though he still hadn't looked up from his reading, 'Honestly, Sarah, what kind of a maid are you who continually disturbs her employers, get back to work; and shut the door when you leave!'

I felt a cold smirk creep onto my face, I pulled the door shut behind us and I leaned against it before we spoke, 'Hello father, I don't believe we've met.' Oh, that was not the best entrance line – especially as we didn't just speak: we drawled – though it did get their attention. (Mentally I began bashing my head against the wall, and yelling "what is wrong with me!" at the top of my mental lungs… it's more than a little bit disconcerting that we…I…he…don't care what I think. )

The woman (who must be my grandmother) dropped her book, the older man (who, if the younger was my father, must – by default – be my grandfather) nearly spilt his tea over himself and lost control over his jaw muscles, and my father stood and turned to face us…me… at which point we…I… discovered that his face had gone very pale, rather like the greyish white of old porridge. 'Who are you?'

'My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, and I believe that we have all ready established that I am your son.' Now my father's face was a sickly green. I couldn't really blame them for being scared of me, as I seemed to carry myself with the air of a cat that is playing with a mouse instead of killing it immediately. Morfin Gaunt's words were still repeating in the back of my head, and now I could see how true some of them had been. _'You look mighty like that muggle… You look right like him. Riddle…' _ I suppose I do look like my father, but his looks are the only connection between us…me… and him. Our smirk widened into a smile and the muggle that fathered us took a step back… If you could call that horrible grimace a smile, and what, I wondered did this annoying little voice from the back of my head think it was doing? The little voice's response chilled me to the bone, it sound like it had laughed, but the laugh was high and cold, "Lord Voldemort," it said "I am Lord Voldemort."

My body had pulled out my uncle's wand and was pointing it at the muggles. This was impossible, I told myself, I could not lose control of my body to a voice in my head!

From the look on my father's face something that had been nagging him in the back of his mind had flipped over and gotten more comfortable, he must have figured out who my mother was, I had thought. 'You're the child of the whore who tricked me into marrying her, aren't you?'

At that point I lost my temper, and subsequently did not need to explain the existence of magic – my temper managed that on its own – the curse I sent at him flung him across the room, several window panes shattered (the pieces of which hovered in the middle of the air for a few seconds before chasing my grandparents – while none of the pieces hit them they did go into most of the furniture), random statuary started levitating, and I yelled, 'You knew! You knew she was pregnant and you left anyway! You hated her for having magic! She died pining for you; after you left her she didn't have the will to live past my birth! You hated her and she still named me after you!' During my little rant the lights in the room had flickered and gone out, now the only things illuminating the room was the light of the moon coming in through the curtains (which had started blowing as if in a windstorm while I had been screaming at my father) and I, as – for some unknown reason – my out of control magic was making me glow. I didn't really care why I was glowing I staggered towards the door my right hand (the one which wasn't holding a wand) was groping for the door handle.

By that time all of the pieces of glass had impaled themselves in the expensive furniture. With no homicidal splinters of glass flying around my grandparents had chosen to return to an upright position and stare around in terror.

My father, on the other hand, was still standing in the middle of the room. But for the first time (at least as far as I knew) he wasn't acting like a snob… he was just standing there, he looked almost…sad. I was, for the first time since I got my Hogwarts letter, frightened by it, by a muggle, by him. His voice no longer held overtones of hauteur, the simple way he spoke was harrowing, 'I didn't know. If I had I would not have left; even though she had used this …magic… of hers to make me love her.'

Small furry animals that stare into the eyes of a hunting snake have been known to become unable to move; suddenly I knew how it felt to be the small furry animal instead of the snake. Half of me wanted to have an emotional reaction to his words, the other half (which called itself Lord Voldemort) was livid. I was shaking, but I did manage to keep the stutter out of my voice, 'If you had though it was possible she had been with a child when you left, would you have gone looking for me?'

'Yes.'

For the second time that night I lost control of my temper, 'But you didn't! You never tried! Tell me, _father_, where were you when I needed you? WHERE WERE YOU WHEN I WANTED YOU?'

It was, however, the loss of my temper that the voice in the back of my head had been waiting for. One moment I was in control, the next I felt my body point Morfin Gaunt's wand at my father, 'I don't want an explanation. I've all ready made my choice, to try and live with you would be worse than to go on alone. I won't waste anymore of my time on a worthless muggle.' I could feel the words forming one by one in my mouth but could do nothing to stop them. Inside I was screaming at the voice to stop, but it wouldn't listen. The next to words stopped the silent protest dead, there was a flash of green light, the words and the light came twice more. Suddenly I felt my body staggering towards the door.

We ran down from the manor house, and through the village, heading back to the Gaunt house…We are Lord Voldemort; we can not afford to be caught because of some worthless muggle.

END.


End file.
